Snow and Burnt Bread
by fantastical-mundane
Summary: A look into what could have really happened behind the high Capitol walls to Peeta, with a personal appearance from President Snow. Behind the Scenes of the Hijacking.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A look into what could have really happened behind the high Capitol walls to Peeta, with a personal appearance from President Snow**

**I do not own anything involving The Hunger Games, though I think you probably could have guessed that.**

**Chapter 1**

All I can hear is the slow drip of the water around me, and the small noises of the few prisoners around me. Johanna is finally quieting down, though I can still hear small whimpers coming from her side of the dank chamber.

The darkness is all but drowning – add to it the sheer wetness of the place, and I can barely tell where the stone begins and the water ends. Everything is slippery and soaked, and I try not to think about what I'm actually sitting in.

I jerk away from the doors as they open. The rust seems to grate on my very bones as the thick metal gives way to the guards. Dim light seems to almost cut at my eyes as I try to cower away, but I know there's no use – the shackles may be primitive for the Capitol, but they're effective. I want to close my eyes to shield them away from the low yet shocking light, but at the same time I know I have to be alert. I have to be diligent; I have to be aware of what they're doing. If they get too far into me, I know I won't be able to take it, and I need to be able to take it, for Katniss, for our district, for everything we've fought for.

The footsteps are louder than I remember them being last time. The memories of the last visit make me flinch, even though I'm so tired I never want to move again. The darkness has encompassed me for so long; it's strange seeing my own arms, my own legs in front of me, at odd angles on the floor.

The footsteps stop in front of me. It takes all my energy just to roll my neck so my face is once again in the dark, my eyes able to start adjusting to the new light. I can see the outline of two peacekeepers' armor, but their faces were darkness compared to the light streaming behind them.

It's the man in the middle, though, that gets my starving, bleeding, unfocused attention. I can't see his face, or his white hair, puffed out lips or Capitol attire, but the smell hits me even before he begins speaking.

It is blood and it is roses and it is death and slavery and charisma and damnation.

It is President Snow, and he has come for me.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Nope, I am not Suzanne Collins, don't own anything.**

**Chapter 2**

They half shove and half drag me through the grimy hallways, one way and another. Maybe they're trying to confuse me so I won't escape. Maybe I'm just so far gone it doesn't matter.

The guards throw me into a room off to the side of some hallway or another. I hadn't even realized we'd reached our destination before I'm already on the floor, the shackles on my feet having tripped me. I grunt as my shoulder takes the brunt of the fall, not even aware enough to cry or shout out. There is silence for a moment, or possibly whispering – I still can't focus enough to hear anything, either way.

Finally the door shuts, and I feel more than hear the footsteps come around me. I don't care that I'm on the ground, curled into myself. All I can hope to do is work up enough energy to understand what the hell is going on.

Maybe it takes minutes, or hours, or days. Time is so inconsequential at this point.

Someone grasps me and pulls me up after a while. They move me to a side room, change me. I taste clean water and splutter, and then gulp greedily. This has been my first taste of pure water in – honestly I don't know how long. I take long, deep sips until it is taken from me. My eyes seem to lose the cloudiness I hadn't noticed about them until now. The world is not yet clear, but it has lost its off kilter dizziness.

I can finally take in the room, the newest danger. It's a small supply closet stripped of anything useful, with only the rags I'd been wearing minutes ago in one corner, one of the guards in the other.

He must notice that I've begun to come around. He knocks on the door that must lead back to the first room they'd thrown me into, a signal for someone – it has to be for Snow.

The name is almost enough to send me back into comatose. I look around the room without seeing, wondering what they could possibly be preparing for me this time. Maybe they decided to put me back on the air with Caesar – that would explain the crisp right-of-the-Capitol-machines outfit and water. Something tells me that isn't it though – they can't afford another slip up.

The guard is staring at me, and with the water in me I'm able to turn my head and look back easily. My gaze is deadpan; I'm still too tired to show any emotion other than exhaustion.

"President Snow will be seeing you now." The man tells me, "You're going to listen to what he says. You're going to make no sudden moves and do as instructed. There will be grave consequences if you don't, for you and your comrades. Get it?"

My head doesn't want to nod, so I bring my eyes up and down a few times to signal acceptance. I don't care about making trouble or not; it's insane, but all I want is to go back with the others. That seems to be enough for the guard, because the next thing I know I'm being jostled out of the small room, tripping over my cuffed feet. The door opens and now that I've had a few minutes to let the water begin working through my system, I look around. In the center is a long table, far too well made a piece to belong in the dark underworkings of the Capitol. On the end closest is a vacant chair pulled out. On the other end is Snow, still talking to the other guard as I am pushed down onto my chair. I can see from here he is not fairing much better than I am. There has been recent surgery done to him, his face seems puffier than before.

He leans forward and the small movement unleashes a wave of the sick floral smell, mixed with blood, a smell I have become far too familiar with.

He speaks and it's as if everything else in the room dims while I strain to hear his voice, softer than I expect. I picture him yelling, yet he is quiet, calm, serpentine.

"We have a need for you once again, Peeta." He tells me conversationally. A guard brings forward a plate full of succulent meats and decadent fruits; I can smell every single thing on his plate, "Oh don't worry, I've gotten something made up for you as well." He informs me. The guard then brings me another plate, though much less fanciful; a piece of stale bread, a few thin slices of cheese.

I don't even care about the difference; this is real food. My movement seems far too slow as I grab the bread. It's not the best quality – it's rough and overdone, but that's the last thing on my mind as I try to chew, my mouth working overtime to get the nutrients in.

"I thought it would be fitting, bread." Snow muses as I stuff myself. The water has helped, and I'm able to scoff down a few bites before the weariness comes back. I don't care about Snow right now; all I care about is getting as much energy in me as I can so I can figure out where to go from here. With the clothes and water and food, hope is rekindled in me.

Time passes between us. He takes delicate bites of his mass of food, while I choke as much as I can down my throat. He lets me finish everything, lets me gather my strength for the upcoming battle.

Finally I look up at him. I sit straighter, finally feeling the weight and importance of this moment.

Snow puts his elbows on the table as one of the guards takes his plate away, not even half way done. I'm reminded of the victory tour, which now seems like lifetimes away. Not even Avoxes are down here; somehow, not even they can be trusted, down here.

"This time, it would seem, we do not so much need you, boy. We need rather, the _absence_ of you."

I stare at Snow as he smiles, mirroring so many of my nightmares. I don't know what he means, but I understand enough to know that this is not just more torture; this is the next step of their plan for me.

I am to be just another piece in their games.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Again, enjoy :)**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing because I own nothing so no Hunger Games for me.**

**Chapter 3**

I'm expecting the guards to grab me, to drag me to yet another unknown place, be hooked up to some machine, to be beaten, to be destroyed.

The stillness of the room is somehow worse. I feel his eyes on me and it hits me that I have yet to say anything to this man. Years of seeing his face on the junk television at home; I'd always figured he just spoke, was never spoken to.

I remember my family; remember their faces, their voices. I remember the bakery, with its sweet smells and its warmth. I remember Katniss; saving me, kissing me, holding me close. What will this man do to me? What else _can_ he do to me?

"Alright." I say, and I don't know how I'm speaking at all, yet alone evenly, succinctly, "Alright. What… how are you going to… what will happen to me?" I ask. I think I'm owed that, at least. I should be able to know what they've fated for me.

I feel the few contents of my stomach lurch as Snow's smile only seems to grow. It's not a grin by any means. I think it's the tranquility it seems to hold behind it that truly gets me. He seems so damn peaceful, so benevolent.

"We're going to send a message, with you, Peeta." He tells me, "We're going to tell her exactly what happens when she tries to spread her chaos, her barbarity." He leans forward. The distance is insufficient; I'm sure I can feel his breath on me, even from across the table. "We're going to destroy you, boy, from the inside out."

I can't move. I can't _breathe_. I can't even process his words as he leans back again, the smile still serene and clear on his face.

"I'm telling this to you now, not because you asked, but because when we do this to you, I want you to know what's happening, if only until the process is complete. From now until you've been hijacked fully, I want you to know_exactly_ what's happening."

The words come out before I can stop them, "And what… what exactly is it, that will happen?"

Snow snaps his fingers and one of the guards goes to the side, pressing buttons on a console built into one of the walls. I don't understand, until a red recording light appears above the keys he had been typing on. They want to record my reaction. They want to have it on record when I realized what exactly they will be doing to me next.

Snow waits until the guard is back to his position to explain, "You've always been a smart boy, haven't you? Or at least, have good instincts. It's always been clear to me you were never the one pretending in the Games, or on the tour. You're a natural." He makes a scoffing noise, as though such actions should be beneath him, "So what should I do, with someone like you? Make you a _martyr_? No, that's more fuel to her fire – forgive the pun."

"You won't kill me?" My confusion overrules my better judgement to stay silent. Hadn't Snow said there should be an _absence_ of me? What type of game was he playing now?

"Killing you will, at this point, benefit _them_ much more than _us_." Snow explains, his words seem selective, careful, "No, we'll keep you alive. At least your body." He stares at me and I can feel his gaze burrow deep into me, take root in me, "We are going to take away everything from you, boy. We are going to not only make you forget, but _hate_." Snow's voice is little more than a whisper, yet it seems to be screaming, forcing itself into my mind, "You will be programmed to kill the rebel girl, to be a ticking time bomb ready to unleash all the baker hell you could possibly have. You will be _nothing_. You will have no friends, have no love, and have no trust. Only pain, only anger, only _violence_. It's funny I suppose, in some way. She runs free, while you are here, shackled and broken, soon to become our weapon, and really, it's all her fault."

My mind will not allow anything but the last few comments to even register for me, "Funny, because I'm pretty sure _you're_ the one that's tortured, electrocuted, defiled and systematically _executed_ us here, not her." I reply, my voice straining and breaking. I can't be weak, I can't be broken. I will fight with every inch of my being.

"_Because_ of her, and her actions." Snow amended, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, you'd think a Seam girl from District 12 would be more _diplomatic_, considering everything the Capitol has done for her." I snap back, my blood boiling. Snow would never change what I think of Katniss. It is too central to me, there is no line between myself and her, now.

"I had taken you for such a smarter boy than you're proving yourself to be right now." Snow warns me, the danger in his voice like an alarm.

"_Victor_." I growl before I can stop myself.

There is a long pause as he leans back farther, "Excuse me?"

"If you make me play your games again, Snow, that's what I am. I'm a victor, not a boy, not a tribute for your amusement. I'm not one more of the thousands of children you've killed. I've beaten you before, and I'll beat you again."

I hear the footsteps behind me and all I can see before the sedative is injected into me is Snow's face, and I can't help but almost smirk because it tells me that for once in this place, I've said exactly the right thing to get under him.

I lose consciousness as he gets out of his chair, and the last thing I see before falling into oblivion is him shoving past the guards to get away from me. The smell of roses and blood lifts and I let the darkness swallow me up, for the moment.


End file.
